After Summer
by Denwa
Summary: Encounters of the subtle kind. Sasuke, Sakura, Ino.


**Notes:** Whuuuuut? I'm writing _real romance?_ It's the end of the world, folks. The end of the world.  
**Warnings:** Underage sex, consumption of alcohol, het, subtle yaoi and yuri (sometimes, you need plotholes), and colorful language.

**After Summer.**  
July 10, 2007.

* * *

_And he loves her like the wild rain._

* * *

She was sixteen when she woke up naked and clammy and cold and facing Uchiha Sasuke's naked chest. _He sleeps on his side_, she had automatically noted; he had not been up yet, and she turned over to look at her surroundings. Maybe if she was lucky enough, then it would be his apartment. If the Gods hated her, then it would've been hers. (The boy next to her uttered a tiny, tiny moan and she blushed and stiffened immediately.) 

The thick blankets (it was summer already) she clutched tightly in her hands were the color of the sky at night. The room was painted a blue so light that it was placed next to white. There was a desk in an abandoned corner, collecting dust; the only thing on it was piles and piles of paperwork and a photograph of Team 7 when they were twelve. Clothes were strewn carelessly across the floor, as if the owners were drunk. (And they probably were, too. She couldn't remember anything at all.)

This was Sasuke's room. This was Sasuke's tiny, cramped, three-room apartment—a bedroom, a kitchen-with-a-living room, and a bathroom—because he was too lazy to take care of a _real_ apartment. Or maybe he didn't want to spend money, even though he was richer than Naruto and herself and Kakashi combined. Even though there was nothing to worry about now, he still won't spend money to buy a _real_ apartment. Maybe he was a masochist, in some strange, random, twisted, Sasuke-kind of way. He was Uchiha Sasuke. He didn't follow; he _led_.

Maybe if she threw on her clothes fast enough and ran the hell out of there, then maybe he wouldn't miss her. Maybe if she left…

He lightly took her arm and pulled her down to use as a pillow. The real Sasuke wouldn't be doing this; carelessly admitting a weakness. But then again, he was sleeping. This wasn't the real, daytime Sasuke who would rather die than ask her for an amenity. He would rather die than ask her for anything. She inwardly panicked as she rested her head anyways on the pillow. He would kill her for this. He would go on a rampage and possibly burn her. But that was Sasuke—that angry, angry boy she liked (loved).

His hair is broom-hair in the mornings, sticking out at every angle imaginable. His face is relaxed in the mornings, unlike his irritated self while they are sparring. And his skin was pale (_Paler than mine_, she thought with a twinge of jealousy; _Prettier than mine_) and his hands were calloused. He looked pretty, except his lips were made into a thin line, like he was dreaming about something that made him ponder. His nose looked as if he had broken it, except he didn't set it in place fast enough.

Her eyes had widened when she caught herself thinking about him. She thought that she had changed, even if it was just a little bit. She thought that she knew that that one person who wasn't supposed to break your heart (not this bad) will. (Uchiha Sasuke opened his eyes just then.)

Two things fluttered then: her heart and his eyes. He blinked, once, and opened his mouth to speak when she colored instantly, but closed it after thinking. There were three choices: scream (only Naruto would do that); coolly ignore her (he was harsh but that was crossing the line between harsh and _brutal_); or calmly ask if she knew what was going on. Worst-case-scenario was that he would have to kill her to dispose of the evidence, but that was just plain idiotic. It's not like he hates her or anything. He's just not sure if he loved her.

"Sa—?"

"It's not what you think!" she yelped automatically as he raised an elegant black eyebrow (she was jealous, once again). She jolted upright, taking her half of the blankets with her. She had broom-hair; they had so much in common. "Really—I swear! I… well; you know… yesterday _really_ wasn't my day and I'm sure that it isn't yours, either but you know Naruto—he's… he's, er, well… —he likes to drink and he said, 'Sakura-chan, I wanna challenge you two to a drinking contest!' and you said, 'Ch,' and I said, 'Fine," and you know, we got drunk and I—"

"_Sakura_," he said, almost grounding that word out. She stopped in mid-sentence with her mouth slightly open. "Stop talking and listen to me." She closed her mouth. "Look, I'm sorry I can't tolerate alcohol like you two can, but do not—do _not_—tell anyone about this." She nodded, once, slowly, and he sighed; a soft noise coming from his beautiful lips. "Listen to me. I've been thinking about things and I can only come up with one solution."

"And… what is that?"

There was a sound—a very faint sound tapping on the windows. She tensed and her hands loosened their grip on the blankets. Sasuke, beside her, took a shaky breath and there was a gauche smile on his face. His voice was hesitant and his broom-hair fell down, just a little.

"I… —really hate rain in the summer."

She was not sure on whether she wanted to frown or smile. This was not Sasuke, was he.

"Sasuke-k—"

"Sakura?"

"Hm?''

There was an awkward moment between them as Sasuke wordlessly looked down and retrieved her clothes and she wordlessly accepted them. They turned away from each other, changing as quickly as possible, without uttering a sound. She was afraid that maybe he wouldn't speak to her again. She was afraid that this had put a strain to their friendship (or whatever was left of it, anyways). She was afraid that he didn't love her enough to talk.

And that tiny possibility gnawing at her heart that maybe—just _maybe_—he loved Naruto more than he did with her.

* * *

A week later, she said, "Ino?" (She can't hold it in anymore.) 

Ino said, "What?"

She said, "Ino—I have a confession to make. I have just slept with someone."

And Ino promptly spit her coffee out.

"Who—?"

Sakura had a pleading, pleading look on her face, and Ino had to say that she felt remotely sorry for her friend. Sakura's best friends were two dirty, smelly men. Sakura's best friends were almost her brothers (except one of the men had a _very_ good chance on becoming her _lover_). In fact, Sakura's best friends weren't _even_ men.

They were boys. Young men, boys—but not men. Men were Asuma, who was buried six feet under. Men were Kakashi, who read porn all the time. Uchiha Sasuke and Uzumaki Naruto were not, in Ino's wise eyes, _men_ as so many girls thought so.

"Sorry. I can't tell you, Ino. I made a… promise to him. I… told him that… that I wouldn't tell anyone—but you see? I'm a little bothered by the fact that I can't scream it out to the world—have you ever had that feeling, Ino, when you feel so damn bottled up inside that that cork is that one man who you _know_ that _they_ know that you love… —" She stopped in mid-sentence as she looked up from her coffee mug and saw Ino's stricken face. Her hands went cold.

"_Sasuke_," Ino said, is if it were not a question but an answer. "You… _Sasuke?_" The chair screeched under her as it scraped across the floor. Sakura immediately stood up and took Ino's arm to stop her from leaving, but Ino just pried Sakura's fingers off of her arm and had a look on so dangerous that it sent people looking away. "Ino, _please_," Sakura begged. "Don't. It's not his fault—"

"What do you mean by 'It's not his fault,' Sakura? It _is_ his fault! Why do you keep on protecting him like this? He doesn't even _love_ you. In fact, I am going to go up to him and give him a piece of my mind! He can't just… —aren't you and I _friends?_" She winced at the sound of her own pathetic, desperate words. She was either still in hangover-mode or jealous-mode or older sister-mode or she was just plain _angry_—damn angry—at Uchiha Sasuke. Even though it's not his fault. Even though it's not anyone's fault.

The blonde girl suddenly stopped walking and realized something.

"… Ino?"

"You know what, Sakura?" There was a lump in her throat, but she's Yamanaka Ino, and girls like her don't cry, no matter what. She will be strong—that was her nindo, wasn't it? "You know what? You love him, don't you? And I'm not going to stop that."

(She wants to say, "I'm sorry," but her nindo just keeps getting in the way.)

"Ino…?"

Sakura is still so short compared to the rest of the twelve people they have come to be so close with. Sakura is almost as short as Gaara. Sakura is about three inches shorter than Naruto and Sasuke. Sakura is about half an inch shorter than Ino, so she leans down (just a little) and kisses her wide forehead (which is not so wide now).

"Right, then. Forget what I said. Forget about me. You love him more than you love me, and I realize that. I can accept that without… without being an idiotic girl that I was four years ago. You were my best friend, Sakura. Now you are just my friend. So go. So and… and do whatever you do these days because you don't give _shit about me and the rest of the world_, do you? You just care about… about your… your little circle of best friends—oh God, I can't take it anymore; who was the first person to acknowledge you? What would… what would _Naruto_ say, huh? Haven't you been around him for him to _rub off on you?_ Or maybe Sasuke, right? _Sasuke_—right, your _lover_ and whatnot—_what happened to me?!_"

Ino stormed away, without looking back, appearing to be furious and feeling regret, regret, regret. She shouldn't have yelled at Sakura like that. Sakura—or, at least, the Sakura _she_ knew, liked to hold grudges.

She passed a bar and stopped in a halt and stepped inside and asked for the strongest drink they had.

Before she remembered that this was Sakura's favorite bar.

That night, when Yamanaka Ino went home—past her proud father (who was not so proud that evening) and past her gentle mother (who looked more gentle than ever) and past everything and slammed the door of her room shut that it closed with a loud _Bang!_—she broke her nindo and cried, cried, cried over the loss of Sakura and over the loss of whatever her friend—her damn (best) friend, fuck it—used to be.

Oh God, oh God, oh God.

What had happened to them?

* * *

She was seventeen when he asked for her hand in marriage a year later; he was sixteen-and-a-half. She had said "Yes"—what else was she supposed to say? "No?" She couldn't say anything else, and both Sasuke and Ino knew that. 

It was to be a traditional, formal wedding; none of those bouquets and silly champagne when you could have cold-hearted sake. The invitations were sent to only their closest—Naruto, Kakashi, Ino, Iruka, Tsunade, Shizune, and the others. Ino came with her lips pressed so thinly that she frowned the whole time—her faked smiles were falling apart and both Shikamaru and Chouji offered crooked, awkward smiles of encouragement; "Think about it," said Shikamaru when Ino finally broke down crying in some secluded corner next to a rosebush; "When this is all over, you can go home and cry," but that only got Ino to cry harder.

There were seven things that never happened to Haruno Sakura; one was that she never had her first kiss with Sasuke. Two was that she never had that western-style wedding with him, either. Three was that she had never gone back to being best friends with Ino. Four was that Naruto never gotten over his slight crush over her, but that was okay now—he loved her like an older sister now. Five was that she had never gotten to see what was behind Kakashi's mask. Six was that she had never gotten to wear pre-marriage make up and pre-marriage perfumes before, and seven was that she had never married Uchiha Sasuke.

Or, at least, not _her_ Uchiha Sasuke. Or not the Uchiha Sasuke she had so painstakingly tried to remember, even when he had broken the pieces with her hand and she had put them back together again. This Uchiha Sasuke was awkward in all the ways he wasn't before. How to kiss her or how to embrace her—she wants to say "Just kiss me," but she is afraid that this empty shell of a boy—he is just a _boy_ without a ever having a childhood before—would crumple apart at every touch she makes.

When he turned seventeen, she took a bundle she had packed up two years ago—a bundle of springtime perfumes, even though it was summer already and took one blindly and dabbed it at her neck. She remembered this one now—the one Ino gave her. Ino said that it remaindered her of apples and cherries and watermelons and various flowers. She nearly threw it away. It was not spring. It was summer, and in a month, summer would be over and autumn would begin.

(Now that she thought about it, that was really a depressing cycle to live with.)

She had lain on her side that night, facing away from Sasuke, facing away from the world she had built for herself and thinking about what-ifs. What if Ino had never befriended her? What if the Kyuubi never attacked Konohagakure? What if Itachi had never existed? And then; What if Sasuke had never asked her to marry him? What if she had said "No"?

The perfume, he noted, lingered on her neck—she didn't wash it off completely. He tentatively, gingerly, placed his calloused hand on hers and she stiffened like a rabbit being stalked for prey. _She doesn't trust me enough_, he thought with a bitter tone in his head, _because she is afraid of rejection from both Ino and Naruto and me_. That was her world, wasn't it? Ino, Naruto, and him, but Ino had broken a piece of her heart and Sasuke was left to pick up the pieces, except that he didn't _know_ how to pick them up. He could prick his hands and hand them to her, and that was all he could do.

Her back shuddered and a whimper came from her mouth (the hold on her hands tightened to a grip) and those whimpers became full-fledged sobs. He turned her over gently and she latched onto his shoulders.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" she said desperately, as if that simple sentence could change everything. "I just don't what to do anymore. Ino hates me now and I can't do anything about that now." She refused to look at him, still, and he did not look at her. "I want to… I still want her to like me again but she'll continue to hate me if I don't… _stop_—stop… our… _relationship_. But—! I'm _scared_ that I love you more than I love Ino and I don't know what to do. I can't just _forget_ her, right?"

_We don't really have a relationship_, Sasuke wanted to say. _Our relationship is beyond words_, but instead he patted her head awkwardly, and when he deemed that that wasn't really enough, he returned her uncomfortable embrace.

"Do you want a divorce?" he said plaintively and she tried her best to stop her crying.

"No! No. It's not like _that_. Really. _Really_."

And the _pitter-patter_ of the raindrops followed like tiny kitten feet, walking in and stealing warmth. Rain in the summer made the air _hot_, dense, and humid. He buried his head into her neck, despite the air, and she held on tighter. She smelled like spring—like her hair and like her eyes, and maybe that was all that mattered then; the rain _pitter-patters_ and the kittens smugly smiling and thinking about lost childhoods and marriages and spring and her.

"Sakura?"

"Sasuke-kun?"

(He was torn between "I love you" and "I'm sorry" and so he gave a wry smile.)

"Thank you for everything."

* * *

(So. What the hell was that? I don't really know. And, well, looking back, I'm thinking, _Am I trying to write a romantic SasuSaku or an angst-ridden InoSaku? _This originally started out as a fluffy fic, except that I realized, _Damn, I can't write fluff for the life of me_, so I just… didn't. And you can tell that I got stuck at the ending. I didn't know what to do there.) 


End file.
